have a chance after all.
“Okay, Jensen. Now you’re playin’ my game. I’m a-gonna stomp you into a greasy puddle.”
Smoke hit him flush in the mouth and knocked him up against the bloody body of Jennings. Boots recoiled in horror and lunged at Smoke, both fists flailing the air.
Smoke hit him a combination left and right that staggered the outlaw and pulped his already split lips. Boots shook his head and tried to clear it. But Smoke pressed him hard, not giving him a chance to do anything except try his best to cover up.
Boots held his fists in front of his face. ‘Smoke hammered at his belly with sledgehammer blows. Boots felt ribs crack and knew that Jensen was going to beat him to death. He tried to run. Smoke grabbed him by his dirty shirt collar and threw him back onto the trail.
“Get up and fight, you yellow bastard,” Smoke told him.
Boots crawled to his feet, wondering if Smoke was going to kick him. That’s what he would have done if it had been Jensen on the ground. He started to raise his fists, and Smoke drove a right through his guard and flattened his nose. Blood and snot flew from his busted snout, and Boots backed up against a tree as his eyes watered and his vision turned misty.
He heard Smoke say, “This is for those little girls back on the trail, Boots. For that poor woman and that man you sorry lumps of shit used for target practice.”
Pain exploded in wild bursts in Boots’ chest and belly and sides as Jensen pounded him unmercifully. Ribs popped and splintered like toothpicks. The last thing Boots would remember for awhile was those terrible cold eyes of Smoke Jensen.
He knew then why people called him the Last Mountain Man.
Chapter Fifteen
Al Martine and his bunch came upon Jennings and Boots in the midafternoon. Several of the outlaws lost their lunch when they found them.
Boots screamed hideously when the outlaws tried to move him.
‘Jensen busted all his ribs,” Al said, a coldness touching his guts. “Them ribs is probably splintered into his innards.” He looked down at Boots. “There ain’t nothin’ we can do for you, Boots.”
“Shoot me,” Boots whispered.
Al just looked at him. “We’ll get Jensen for you, Boots. That’s a promise.” Boots whispered something. “I can’t hear you, Boots. What’d you say?”
“Give it up,” Boots said through his pain. “Leave the gang. Leave the mountains. Go to farmin’, or something. It you’re gonna outlaw, git a thousand miles away from Jensen. He’s a devil. Leave him alone.”
“You don’t mean that?” Zack said. “That’s just your pain talkin’.”
“Don’t you want revenge?” Lopez asked.
Boots grinned a bloody curving of the lips. “Hell, boys. That ain’t gonna do me no good. I’m dead.” And he died.
Since none of them had shovels, they wrapped Boots Pierson and Harry Jennings in their blankets and covered them with branches. None of them had a Bible, either. The outlaws just stood around and looked at each other for a time. The gang of young punks rode up just as the last branch was put on the pile.
“Taylor’s dead,” Pecos announced. “Blood poisonin’ kilt him, I reckon.” ,
“This ain’t workin’ out like we planned, Al,” Crown said. “This was supposed to be an easy hunt. Ever’ day we’re losin’ two, three men to Jensen or Charlie Starr. Another week and there ain’t gonna be none of us left.”
“Yeah,” Lopez said. “And Jensen could be Injunin’ up on us right now.'
All of them quickly found their mounts and hauled out of there. They rode until they came upon Ray’s group and brought them up to date.
“A stake through his belly?” Keno said, his voice filled with horror. He shuddered. “Jesus, man, that ain’t no fair way to fight no fight.”
Concho said, ‘Jensen ain’t playin’ by no rulebook.”
“Did we ever?” Pedro asked softly in an accented voice. “Unlike the rules set forth in lawbooks and courts of formal law, Jensen is giving us what we have given so many other people over the years. The way I see it, there is only two things we can do: continue the hunt until we kill Jensen or he kills us, or turn tail and run away.”
“I ain’t runnin’ from Jensen,” the young punk Concho said, swelling out his chest. “I think I can take him in a stand-up shoot-out.”
“You are a fool,” Lopez told him bluntly. “I have seen Jensen work. He is smooth, my young friend, and very, very quick. His draw is a blur that the eyes cannot catch.”
“I’m faster,” Concho said.
Lopez shook his head and said no more. Let the young punk find out for himself, he thought. When he challenges Smoke Jensen, he will have a few seconds of life left him to ponder his mistakes as the gunsmoke clears, and he rides to Hell.
“It’ll be dark in a few hours,” Al said, looking up at the sky. “And it’s gonna rain. Let’s get back to the base camp and tell Lee what happened.”
Smoke sat in his lean-to and drank his coffee and ate his early supper. He felt that outlaws being what they were, he would be reasonably safe from search in the cold, pouring rain. They would be too busy staying dry to look for him.
But he still carefully put out his fire before he rolled up in his blankets and closed his eyes.
Since Mills and his marshals were going to stay a spell where they were, they made. their camp a secure and snug one, using canvas 'and limbs. The quarters were close together, with a cooking area just in front, easily accessible to all.
“This should bring the killing to a halt for a time,” Mills said, looking out at the driving rain. “Maybe,” he added. “I don’t approve of what Smoke is doing, but I understand why he’s doing it.”
“There is a strange code out here,” Albert said. “One that I’m sure our fathers swore to —at least to some degree.”
“Or swore at,” Sharp said.
“Probably a little of both.” Harold poured a cup of coffee and stared out at the silver-streaked gloom of late afternoon.
“Even after all this is said and done,” Winston said. “We’re still going to have to enforce the law once the warrants you requested on all those outlaws arrive.”
“Yes,” Mills said. “The San Francisco office is supposed to be getting them to Denver by train, then stagecoach to Rio. I requested them to be posted to the local marshal’s office. I’ll ride into town in a few days and check. By that time, I hope all this .. . nonsense concerning Smoke will be over.”
The deputy U.S. Marshals looked at each other. They hoped the same thing. None of them wanted to confront Smoke Jensen with an arrest warrant. None of them knew if they would even try to do that. Aside from the fact that he was the most famous gunslinger in the West, they all genuinely liked the man.
Most of the miners within a forty-mile radius of the fight had left the mountains and descended on Rio. They didn’t want to be caught up in the middle when the lead started flying. As it was, many of them had been close enough to hear the shots from Smoke and Charlie’s guns. And from the guns of the outlaws.
Made a man plumb edgy.
Louis’ saloon and gambling hall had been erected —due in no small part to the fact that Louis paid three times what others did for workmen. A smaller building had been built in the rear; this housed the kitchen, living quarters, and a privy attached to the building for maximum comfort and privacy. Cotton was on duty on the streets, and Louis and Johnny sat in the rear of the big wood and canvas saloon and talked in as low tones as the drumming of the rain overhead would permit. Earl was out of town.
“You heard that miner over yonder, Louis,” Johnny said, cutting his eyes to a miner who had just come into town and was now sucking on a mug of beer. “What’d you think?”
“As near as I can figure —discounting the inevitable exaggeration—Smoke and Charlie have killed seven or
